


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-12
Updated: 2006-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Christmas for the Winchesters is far from normal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year 1/2  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (established relationship)  
Rating: 18+  
Category: holiday slash?  
Word Count: 7,000 this part   
Spoilers: none, pre-series  
Summary: Christmas for the Winchesters is far from normal.  
Warnings: Under-age incest (Sam is 16, legal in NJ, but if it squicks, stop now) graphic sex, language.  
Disclaimer: Someone else created these fascinating characters. I just play with them—and make no profit at it.   
Notes: It's all one story in two posts, because I never met a word count I couldn't exceed. Thanks to [ ](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/profile)[**acostilow**](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Any stupidity left is all my fault. I stole the “Tigger on crack” line from her. I’m sorry if any of you get stuck with Johnny Mathis in your head because of the title. (Fond as I am of his rendition; it’s a little weird for April and Wincest.)   
  
  
  
  
  
If the Winchester family business had a busy season, it was from Halloween to the Winter Solstice. There was a brief breathing time for the four days between the Solstice and Christmas, and then back to work on whatever people’s holiday depression or desperation stirred up.  
  
And then there was the visit to Dad’s sister and her family in New Jersey. It had only happened three times in Dean’s life, and only for three of those four days, but all things considered, he usually preferred the busy season.   
  
This would be the fourth time.   
  
Dean was not looking forward to it.  
  
He suspected the only reason for this visit was his shoulder. Ten different jobs in those six weeks, including a nasty possession that had gotten Dean flung into a wall.  
  
Granted, Dean’s back had crashed into enough walls to make up the Great Wall of China, but this ride had been special. His left shoulder had landed on an exposed hook, which had ripped right through to the muscle. It still hurt like a bitch. Twenty didn’t bounce back as fast as nineteen.   
  
He looked up at the split-level ranch Dad had pulled up to with a grimace of distaste most people would have saved for gazing into the pit of hell. He doubted there were going to be any more opportunities to be alone with Sam now than there had the last few weeks. Dammit.  
  
“Now,” Dad said.   
  
Dean wiped the grimace off his face and turned to face his father in the front seat.   
  
“Sammy? Sammy!” his father barked.  
  
Dean looked into the back seat. Sammy’s long legs were stretched across the back seat. His damn brother had been growing an inch a month for the last two years and was just about to pass him. Sam’s bangs were hanging over his eyes as he nodded his head in time to the music coming in through his headphones.   
  
“Headphones off, son.” And there was no way Sam could not have heard that, no matter how loud his music might have been.   
  
Sam yanked them off, looking sullen. Sam was pouty-lip deep in his adolescent angst. Dean couldn’t remember ever being such a jerk, though Sam assured him he had been.   
  
“Now, let’s review the rules,” his father said now that he had his sons’ attention.   
  
“C’mon, Dad, I’m sixteen.”  
  
Dad’s gaze held Sam’s glare for a long count. Dean held back a sigh, wishing the only two people in his world would stop driving each other crazy.   
  
“Fine.” Sam huffed, sending his bangs flying. “Protection symbols at the doors and windows before bed. Don’t let anyone see your scars. Don’t scare your cousins with ghost stories. Keep the weapons out of sight.”   
  
“And?” his father prompted, but the last was more for Dean.   
  
“And don’t let your cousins provoke you into a fight,” Dean finished in a mutter. When he was twelve, Dean had almost killed his cousin Josh. But the little bitch had so had it coming. He kept making cracks about not having a mother, and just about made Sammy cry.   
  
The last time they’d come, four years ago, Josh had the sense to give Dean a lot of room. Like “finding reasons to keep out of the house” room.  
  
And Josh was still finding reasons to keep away from his scary cousin, since when Aunt Sarah greeted them at the door, she frowned and said that she’d told the boys to be home to greet their guests. Their youngest cousin, Katie, waved from the living room where she was watching some cartoon. She rose and solemnly took Sam and Dean up to her room where Dean saw that the ten-year-old had not outgrown her obsession with unicorns or pink. Katie was cute, with a nasally voice, and a too-serious expression on her young face. Dean patiently listened to her introduce all of her stuffed unicorns and greeted each one by name (all of which happened to be Betsy), while Sam huffed and shifted noisily behind him.   
  
When Katie went back to her cartoons, Dean tossed his bag at his brother who caught it with a grunt. “Ya know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice.”  
  
Sam shrugged.   
  
“For someone who claims to be sick of the freak life you sure put up a stink about coming here.”  
  
“I just don’t like it here.”   
  
“Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but this is the way the rest of the world lives. Unicorns and stuck up jackass cousins making fun of your too short pants. This is the life you’ve been whining about.”  
  
Sam tossed their bags onto the pink carpet, duffels that had been carefully repacked at the last stop, with their best non-Goodwill clothes and one unloaded pistol, one knife each wrapped carefully in a pair of jeans, ammo in the pocket.   
  
“What is the bug up your ass, Sammy?”  
  
“Nothin’” His brother slumped on the bed, his attempt at a pissy expression completely ruined by the backdrop of pink, unicorns and rainbows. Dean bit his cheek to keep from laughing.  
  
“I just . . . don’t want to be here. And did you notice how Dad was while we were driving here? I think he’s tracking some lead or something. He seemed a lot different than he usually does when we come back here.”  
  
Dean left Sammy pouting in unicorn land and went back downstairs. Dad pulled him aside, and Dean immediately realized Sam had been right.  
  
“Listen, Dean,” his father began, but even as Dean felt his pulse leap with the excitement of a new hunt, he knew from the look in his father’s eyes that this was something big, and he was going to be left behind. He tried to keep the disappointment off his face.  
  
“I’m going over to Clifton. It’s only about thirty miles from here. I’ve got a lead on some unexplained fires.”  
  
Dean couldn’t help interrupting. “Let me help you. Sam’ll be fine here.”  
  
“No. I need you with Sam. Here. Safe. Look, I shouldn’t be more than a few days. I’m leaving the car, and I don’t want you following me. Even if I don’t make it back right away. You stay here.”  
  
Dean could feel the anger tighten his shoulders. This was big. Like finding the thing that killed Mom big, and he was stuck baby-sitting.  
  
“Dean, this is important. You take care of Sammy, and you stay here. I don’t want either of you near Clifton.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Dean dug his hands in his pockets.   
  
“Yes, sir what?”  
  
“I’ll stay here and take care of Sammy.”  
  
“Good.” His father ruffled his hair in a way that made him feel about ten and went to talk to his sister.  
  
Dean wanted to punch something. Pity Josh wasn’t back, but probably just as well. He slammed open the back door and went outside, sucking in the freezing air until it burned his lungs. So much for fucking Christmas.   
  
Sam shifted the frilly curtains to watch Dean stand rigid in the yard. Anger was evident in every line of his body, and Sam knew he’d been right. Dad was off on some lead, and he’d left them behind. Sam was relieved, being at Aunt Sarah’s would be a little less weird without Dad there, but Dean would be pissed. He always wanted to go with Dad.   
  
Maybe Sam’s Christmas present would cheer him up. He’d done a lot of reading up for it, and even this far away from Christmas his breaths started coming faster at the thought of what he’d planned.   
  
Dean started pacing the length of the tall fence, and even in this suburban yard, he looked like a hunter, moved like one. The kids at school drooled over actresses and models, posting barely dressed—or undressed pictures on the insides of their lockers, inviting others to leer. Girls were pretty enough, soft and curvy, but his brother—damn, sometimes he got hard just watching him.  
  
The way his shirts stretched across his shoulders, the way he could cock or reload a shotgun one-handed, hit a moving target with a thrown knife. The first time Sam had been locked in a closet with a girl for that Seven Minutes in Heaven game, her soft hands rubbing him through his jeans had had him coming in his pants in under five, but Dean—the way all that hard muscle shifted under his skin when he moved against him, and the unbelievable heat of his skin—Dean could make him come without even touching his dick. And the promise in that grin gave him wood at the worst possible times.   
  
Dean stopped pacing and wrapped his hand around a birch tree. It had a pretty good-sized trunk, but it shook from the tension in that grip. Sam thumped his way down the stairs.   
  
“Hey.” He bumped Dean’s shoulder with his own.   
  
“Hey.” Dean let go of the tree and shoved his hands in his pocket. They watched the wind chase the clouds across the horizon.   
  
“You trying to kill off the foliage? It possessed or something?”  
  
Dean’s single bark of laughter was hollow. “You ever get tired of being right all the time, Sammy?”  
  
“Sorry. What is it this time?”  
  
“It could be the one. The thing that took Mom. And he just left me—left us.”  
  
“He wants us to be safe, Dean.”  
  
“You defendin’ Dad, now? That’s new.”  
  
Sam shrugged, knowing that Dean might not see it but would feel the motion against his shoulder.   
  
“I want to be there when he gets that son of a bitch, Sam. I have to be there.”  
  
“It’s just another lead. And none of ‘em has ever gotten us a bit closer to finding it.”   
  
The wind picked up, blowing dead leaves and dirt around the brown yard. Sam shivered.   
  
“Gotta stop burning up all that food to get taller. Get some meat on you, ya skinny bastard.”  
  
Sam turned to look his brother in the eye. With Dean in boots and him in sneakers, they were equal in height, but in bare feet he had an inch on him, and Dean damn well knew it. He grinned, and Dean made a mock growl, and that’s when the fence opened.   
  
“There they are, the freak brothers.”  
  
Sam felt the tension slam into his back like a blow between his shoulder blades. Now he remembered why he hated coming here.  
  
Josh and Ben leaned against the fence, Ben tossing a football from hand to hand. Ben was a year older than Sam, and not too much of a dick, if you could get him away from his brother. Josh, though—he was a year older than Dean and you’d think he would have outgrown being a bully.  
  
Dean turned so that they were shoulder to shoulder again. “I always feel so welcome here, Sam. What about you? Just all that family feeling and holiday spirit.”  
  
Ben slid his back off the fence and tossed the football to Sam. He caught it in one hand and smiled.   
  
“Hi, Ben.”  
  
“So, Sammy, finally got your nose out of the books, huh?”   
  
Ben’s words lacked his brother’s cruel tone, but that nickname still rankled when it didn’t come from Dad or Dean. Sam tossed the football back with a little more force.   
  
Ben caught it—with both hands—and looked a little less cocky.  
  
“You guys up for a little game before dinner?”  
  
Both of their cousins might have played on their high school football team, but neither of them had endless hours of practice in knife throwing and the real life experience of dodging scary things that were trying to kill you. Maybe in an actual game where knowledge of plays mattered the Hendrick boys would have stood a chance, but for pure athletic skills, they were no match for the Winchesters.   
  
Sam found a great deal of satisfaction cutting in front of Josh to intercept a pass, his height and the way Ben telegraphed his every move made it pathetically easy. Josh’s attempt to tackle him, even though they were supposed to be playing touch, was also ridiculously easy to avoid. Josh had nothing on a hungry werewolf. Later, when he launched his own tackle, knocking the wind out of the obnoxious jackwad, Dean’s laughter warmed his ears, and he was momentarily glad to be a freak.   
  
“Hey.” Ben said as Josh scrambled to his feet with murder in his eye. “I think we’d better get cleaned up for dinner or Mom’ll kill us.”  
  
Josh threw the football into the shed hard enough to leave a dent and stalked toward the house.   
  
Ben shrugged. “Nice game.” he waited until his brother had slammed the back door before he went on. “You know, he—ah, never mind.”  
  
Dean slapped Sam on the back as they followed Ben back into the house. “Nice shot, little bro.”  
  
*  
  
Roast beef, potatoes, peas, corn and no ketchup anywhere on the table: it was weird. Sam pushed the peas around his plate, wondering how much he had to eat to be polite. When he’d told his teacher he was leaving early for a family emergency, they’d loaded him up. A history report and an English essay and about 800 trig problems were waiting for him upstairs.   
  
“So, Dean,” Uncle Mike folded his arms on the table. “Are you ever planning on college?”  
  
Sam had forgotten about this, the agonizing post-dinner conversation. At the Winchester table—when there was a discussion, all that got covered were leads, routes, and ways to put an end to everything that went bump in the night.  
  
“No, sir.” Dean answered. “I plan to keep helping Dad with his, uh, consulting business.”  
  
“But is there really much money in that? Your Dad really ought to be planning for retirement.”  
  
Sam speared a pea hard enough to end a tiny green vampire. Under the table, Dean kicked his ankle. Sam bit back a cry of pain.   
  
“He enjoys it, sir. And he really likes helping people—with their old houses and things.”  
  
“Well, it’s nice to want to help people, but you have to take care of yourself, too.”  
  
Sam kicked Dean.  
  
“And what about you, Sam? Got your college all picked out?”  
  
Sam could not look at his uncle and definitely could not look at his brother. He chased the peas around until they lined up with the holly berries on his plate. “I haven’t really thought about it, sir.”  
  
“Well, you should. Ben’s really excited about Hofstra, and Josh’ll be graduating from Rutgers this year.”  
  
“I’m sure we have some old catalogs you could look through. I’ll dig them out after dinner,” Aunt Sarah added.   
  
Sam felt sure his uncle’s questioning had been at his aunt’s instigation. Somehow he doubted his uncle had any interest in what became of his strange in-laws.   
  
Josh pushed back from the table. “Some of the other guys are meeting at Kevin’s.”  
  
His mother cleared her throat. Josh’s jaw got tight.  
  
“You guys wanna come with?”  
  
“Thanks, but—” Dean began.  
  
“I have a ton of schoolwork to make up,” Sam put in hurriedly.  
  
“And I think I’ll help Aunt Sarah clean up.” Dean could make even that simple offer sound like a challenge.   
  
Josh’s disgusted snort made him sound about eight, but Ben met Sam’s eyes as if to ask “You sure?”   
  
Sam nodded and the first dinner ordeal was over. If Dad got back on time, there would only be two left.   
  
“Dude, you really hurt my shin,” Dean muttered as they carried the dishes to the kitchen.   
  
“Well, I think you broke my ankle.”  
  
“Do you really have schoolwork?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Go on, I’ll take care of this.”  
  
His aunt found Sam hunched at Katie’s little desk, knees up around his chin as he worked at his hundredth cosine problem.   
  
“Here are those catalogs I promised.” She placed a stack of them on the dresser, but seemed unwilling to leave. “Sam.”  
  
He looked up. Aside from black hair, Sam really couldn’t see any resemblance between his father and his sister. It was her eyes. They’d never seen the things her brother’s had. It made her look different somehow.  
  
“I’ve talked things over with your Uncle Mike and if you need something—a permanent address, or help filling out applications, or—”  
  
“Thanks, Aunt Sarah. Really. I’ll be fine.” Sometimes he wondered what his aunt really knew about Dad’s “consulting” business.   
  
“Your brother tells me you get excellent grades in school. There are a lot of scholarships available.”  
  
Sam ducked his chin onto his chest. He did know. He’d spent a ton of time looking through the library. There were plenty of ways out—if he wanted to take one and leave. Leave Dad. Leave Dean. And that was the reason why he couldn’t—didn’t jump up and start leafing through the catalogs right away. He couldn’t face the idea of telling Dean.   
  
“Thanks. I’ll take a look as soon as I’m done with my homework.”  
  
“You’re both such sweet boys. I wish—” His aunt broke off and stopped to look out the window, as if she could see something out there in the dark. She shook her head. “Dean is playing Monopoly with Katie. Come down when you’ve finished. Katie and I made cookies earlier.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“What manners you boys have.” She spoke as if it were impossible that John Winchester could have raised his sons to have manners without a mother’s influence, and then patted him on the head, a touch he resented almost as much as her words and left him alone.  
  
The bright colors from the stack of catalogs were so distracting he might as well have tried to study with a neon sign flashing on and off in the corner of his vision—actually he’d done that hundreds of times. The catalogs were a bigger distraction. But if he were looking at one and Dean came in . . . And his brother could be as quiet as a cat when he wanted to, kick ass boots and all.   
  
Dean came up an hour later, munching on a molasses cookie. He dropped one on the desk for Sam. “Dude. She bankrupted me. I just got my ass handed to me by a ten year old.”  
  
“At least you had a chance with a ten year old.”  
  
Dean shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth before sticking out a tongue covered in muck. Sam should have been grossed out, but lately anything to do with Dean’s mouth made all kinds of things wake up inside him. The catalogs were no longer quite so interesting.   
  
Dean’s eyes fixed on his face as if he knew what the sight of his tongue had done to Sam. He swallowed the cookie, licked his lips and grinned.   
  
But they still had to ward the room. Sam stood up, and everything got ready to party. One kiss wouldn’t hurt, and then—but Dean was already there, yanking him tight against him.  
  
“Damn it, Sammy, it’s been three freakin’ weeks.”  
  
“Well, it wasn’t my fault. You were always off with Dad and then you hurt your shoulder—”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Make me.”  
  
Dean grinned and the bottom dropped out of Sam’s world. “Oh, I will.”  
  
When Sam was eight, Dean had coaxed him off the high-dive at some pool or other. He might not remember where they were, but he remembered that moment perfectly. The leap into space, terrifying and wonderful, the way the water had closed over his head for just an instant before Dean was there, holding him, praising him. He had felt at once incredibly safe, incredibly strong.   
  
He could remember that moment with so much detail because that was just the way he felt every time they crossed the last inch of space between them and kissed. For one instant he was flying, dropping, elated and scared, and then Dean was on the other side, warm, strong—there.  
  
He tasted the sticky sweet of the cookie on Dean’s lips and then Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and he was launched into space again, dizzy and desperate until Dean caught him, wrapped him in heat.  
  
Then he couldn’t think anymore. It was all taste and smell and sensation. Hot, wet, his tongue tingling from the spice of the cookie, the brush of Dean’s tongue, and the spice of Dean’s mouth always deeper than cinnamon or cloves.  
  
Electricity ran down his spine and spread through his ass and hips and just like that he was hard.   
  
Sam ground his aching dick into his brother. Dean pressed back and pulled his hips closer until they were rubbing against each other like they were trying to get inside each other’s skin.   
  
Dean tore his mouth free. “Damn. We still have to do the room.”  
  
Sam moaned and reached for Dean’s head to pull him back. He’d been about ten seconds from coming. It was all he could do to keep from whining.  
  
“You do the incense, I’ll follow with the salt water.”  
  
Sam couldn’t work fast enough. He had to force himself to make the symbols right, symbols he knew as well as the freaking alphabet—probably because he’d learned them first. As soon as he finished, he pulled off his shirt.  
  
Sam’s eagerness was making Dean’s dick throb and leak in his jeans. Ever since Sam had turned one of their wrestling matches into something much more, Dean had a whole new appreciation for Sam’s single-minded intensity—or as he preferred to call it when they were arguing—perverse bullheadedness. Because when that stubbornness was about Sam’s need for Dean it was almost enough to make him come in his pants.   
  
Dean hurried over to lock the door, and it swung open.   
  
“Dude, you guys got pot?” Josh sounded nicer than Dean had ever heard him, of course, he’d never had anything Josh wanted before.   
  
“No.”   
  
Josh sneered in disbelief.   
  
“Oh, the incense. Heh. I’ve decided to become a Hindu. I use it for meditation.”  
  
“Yeah, man, whatever. Bogart it. It’s about time you got off that goody-two-shoes kick. Man, am I sick of that ‘yes, sir’ ‘yes, ma’am’ shit.”  
  
Josh staggered past him and flopped on the only non-pink thing in the room—a giant purple bean bag. He cradled a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. Ben followed more slowly, no less drunk, but moving carefully. He took up a position on the bed.   
  
Fucking Christ on a Popsicle stick. His cousins had shit ass timing. If they hadn’t been put on this earth to torture him, they sure made him know how happy he was with his own family.   
  
He looked at Sam, who was holding his shirt in front of his crotch, two spots of color burning high on his sharp cheeks. Sam’s eyes were pleading and the look in them was almost enough to make Dean pitch both the jackasses back into the hall, despite what he had promised Dad. He rolled his eyes and flipped the desk chair around, straddling it and hoping the frilly back offered camouflage for his own boner. He wondered how long Sammy was going to keep that white knuckled grip on his shirt.   
  
“I’m sharing, anyway.” Josh stuck out the bottle of JD.  
  
Sam flung himself on the floor on the far side of the bed, shirt still in his lap.   
  
“It’s kind of late,” Dean said.   
  
“What a couple of pussies. It’s not even midnight. Don’t you freaks ever have any fun?”  
  
Since Dean’s idea of fun was pumping bullets into evil things, and until last year he’d been sure Sam only got his jollies with his head buried in a book or thinking up ways to piss off Dad he really didn’t have an answer.   
  
He took the bottle Josh held out and knocked back a swallow, not to answer his cousin’s challenge, but because he hoped a quick buzz might distract him from his fucking hard on. He took another few healthy belts before passing it to Ben.   
  
“Fuck, I was beginning to think you boys never did anything wrong.”  
  
Dean wiped the laugh away from his mouth. Sam could pick a lock as fast as some people might open it with a key. And Dean—well, it was damn good he could pick a lock on handcuffs almost as fast. Something about his smile always seemed to piss off the local boys in charge even when he sirred them up and down. Dad and Sam never had that problem, dammit.   
  
Ben tipped back the bottle. The way he was going, he’d be passed out on the unicorn bedspread before the bottle made another round. Ben lurched up and handed the bottle down to Sam who shook his head. To Sam, whiskey only meant the few numbing shots he got before Dad stitched him up. Not surprisingly, he really hadn’t developed a taste for the hard stuff.   
  
“He doesn’t like—”  
  
“I’ve got a headache.” Sam cut him off with a glare.  
  
“Man, Sam, you are such a girl.”  
  
Dean came up off the chair so fast it tipped over. Nobody said that to Sam but him. But Sam was already on his feet. And not only did he have that infuriating inch on his brother, but he had two on Josh.   
  
“Wanna go again, Josh?” Sam took another step toward his cousin.   
  
And suddenly Dean realized his baby brother didn’t need him to fight his battles for him any more.   
  
“Hey, Sam,” he said softly. Dad’d be pissed if they got tossed out of the house before he got back.  
  
“I don’t care what Dad said. I’m not taking any more shit from him.”  
  
“Well, it seems little Sammy actually does have a pair.”  
  
Sam stepped up to the edge of the bean bag, but Josh never got up.  
  
“Whoa, now.” Ben stood up and then fell back down. “You gonna explain to your baby sister what happened to her room when you guys throw down?”  
  
“Let’s take it outside.” Sam tugged on his shirt.   
  
“Nah, s’too cold. You win, Sammy. I take it back.”  
  
Sam’s fists clenched but he folded himself back up onto the rug.   
  
“Well, that’s about all the family fun I can handle for now,” Josh slurred before staggering up and toward the door. “Night, freaks.”  
  
Ben followed and paused at the door. “He’s just pissed ‘cause you show him up in front of Mom. She always tells him to act more like you.” Liquor apparently washed away some sibling loyalty. “Don’t let him get to you. It’s what he wants. Hey, there’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet for whoever drew the floor.”   
  
Dean shut the door behind him, puzzling over his last words. Drew the floor? And then he got it. Katie’s full-sized bed was certainly no smaller than a lot of the motel beds he and Sam had shared—even before things had heated up—but he supposed Ben and Josh would rather die than sleep in the same bed. He noticed they’d got to keep their own rooms while Katie was on a beach lounger in her parents’ room. Apparently, the leather furniture in the den was not to be slept on. God, if acting like his cousins was the alternative, he was damn glad to be a freak.   
  
“Shit. There’s no lock on this door.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. I’m too pissed off now anyway.” Sam slammed his head back against the bed.   
  
“Come over here and say that.”  
  
“I’m not kidding, Dean. Let’s just go to sleep.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever. But tomorrow I am so buying a lock for this door.”  
  
Dean made his way back from the bathroom sometime around four, long after the house had gone quiet, long before the birds were up. He scratched his belly above his pajama bottoms, bottoms borrowed from Dad for this trip, since he had stopped wearing anything but his shorts to bed a long time ago.   
  
As soon as he opened the bedroom door, he knew something was wrong. There was no Sam shaped lump in the bed and just a whisper of sound in the room. He jerked his arm free before the reaching hand could close over his wrist and grabbed—Sam.  
  
“What the hell, Sammy? I almost took you out.”  
  
Sam shut the door and backed him up against it.   
  
“Oh.” A smile curved the corner of his mouth. “Woke up hard, didja?”  
  
But that was more than a little obvious when Sam pressed against him.   
  
“Not like this, Sammy. It’ll make too much noise.”  
  
“The door.”  
  
“I’ll put the chair in front of it.”   
  
He’d barely let go of the chair before Sam was tugging him to the bed, a hoarse “Come on, come on,” spilling from his lips.   
  
And Dean knew it wasn’t just about waking up hard—it was Sammy feeling lost and alien in this “normal” little world. He needed something to fit right, something to connect to and Dean was happy it was him.  
  
Sam pulled him up until Dean was stretched out full length on top of him, his hand diving into the fly of Dean’s pajamas before they’d even kissed. It was like a knife in his chest when Sam was like this. His pain, his need tore into Dean with every rough touch. But all his insights vanished when his brother’s hand closed around his dick and started to work him.  
  
“Let me—”  
  
Sam arched up and kissed him, cutting off his words with a nip at his lips, a thrust of his tongue.   
  
“You taste like whiskey.”  
  
“Shoulda had some then.”  
  
And Sam’s lips got softer and fuck, Dean got hard so fast it hurt. Their chests pressed together, and he knew neither of them was gonna last long. He pulled Sam’s hand off him and shoved down the front of Sam’s pajamas. It took a few rough jerks of cloth over swollen flesh before he got his own bottoms down enough to get their cocks against each other.   
  
One, two, painful awkward shifts of legs and hips, and it was there. The perfect pressure and tug of sensitive skin dragging on hard heat and damn, even dry like this he was almost—Sam’s tongue was halfway down his throat, his hips arching frantically, and his brother’s frantic need was gonna burn him alive. Sam’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and Dean scarcely felt the pain because Sam was gone, spurting across their bellies, that hot jet the last thing Dean felt before everything went fuzzy when the bomb went off in his spine and exploded through his cock.   
  
“Jesus,” he muttered, when he got his breath back.  
  
“Yeah.” It was soft as a sigh.  
  
“You answerin’ to that name now?”  
  
But Sam didn’t laugh or smack him. He’d slipped back into sleep so quickly Dean wondered exactly how awake he’d been. He barely stirred when Dean grabbed his t-shirt to wipe them down. He’d do the sheets when he got up early to do their laundry tomorrow.   
  
*  
  
Neither of his male cousins showed up for breakfast, and Sam figured they were probably too hung over to roll out of bed before noon. Just as well, he couldn’t imagine how much of a jackass Josh would be with a hangover on top of his usual asshattedness.   
  
At least breakfast felt a little more familiar: pancakes with enough syrup on the table to drown out any strangeness. Sam brought his plate over to the dishwasher, wishing he could lick the syrup off his plate. He watched Dean explain to Aunt Sarah that they needed to go out to a store.   
  
The sun was coming through the windows of the breakfast nook, hitting Dean’s back, making his brother look like a freakin’ angel with a halo—a fallen angel with that wicked smile.   
  
He dropped his gaze back to the plate, lost in a momentary fantasy of the future, a future where it was just him and Dean, where he could lick the syrup off his plate, off his brother’s lips if that was what he wanted. Just the two of them, no mission, no crusade.   
  
“But it’s Christmas Eve. The stores will be mobbed.”  
  
“Oh, that’s all right. It’s kind of a family tradition.”  
  
“Tradition?” Sam mouthed behind his aunt’s head. Dean warned him off with his eyes.   
  
“In that case, let me just give you directions. Or maybe I could drive you myself?”  
  
“I’m sure we’ll be able to find our own way, but thank you.”  
  
Sam went upstairs to finish dressing, which meant adding a knife in a wrist sheath at Dean’s insistence. He wondered for an instant if this shopping trip was some kind of an excuse to go after Dad, but as soon as the idea popped into his head he knew it was wrong. Dean would never disobey Dad, no matter how stupid their father’s orders might be.   
  
Dean came through the door as he was pulling his sleeve back down and dug out his own knife and sheath.   
  
“You really think this is necessary for a trip to the mall? Think the mall santa’s taken that whole Satan anagram thing literally?”  
  
“Ya never know.” Dean had been pointing out that anagram since Sammy was old enough to whine about never visiting the North Pole on any of their drives.   
  
Dean rolled his injured shoulder carefully, and Sam felt a pang of guilt.   
  
“Did I hurt you—last night, I mean?”  
  
The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted. “Nah. It was all good, Sammy.” He eyed the door. “Let’s go find a lock.”  
  
Dean found a hardware store in a strip mall four lights from their aunt’s house. “A little hook and eye oughta do it. Be easy to take out when we leave, too,” Dean said as they got out of the car. “Why don’t you run into the convenience store and pick us up some snacks. I know you’re always hungry.” Dean handed him a twenty.   
  
“Did she offer you money?”  
  
“Jeez, Sammy, you turnin’ psychic or something? Yeah, she did. But Dad gave me some before he left and I’ve got some of my own. I told her we were good.”  
  
Sam took the bill and stuffed it in his pocket. Dad and Dean had been hunting almost non-stop since October. There hadn’t been any opportunities to find an odd job. He didn’t want to think too much about where the money might have come from.   
  
Convenience stores were always familiar territory, like diners and no-tell motels. The local names were the only things that changed. New Jersey had WaWa’s, a name that still made Sam giggle like a six year old. But New Jersey also meant the store had something very special for Dean. He found the TastyKake display and grabbed two boxes of Butterscotch Krimpets, then picked up a bag of Cheetos for himself.   
  
He knew Dean hadn’t wanted him in the hardware store for some reason—and since it probably had to do with hunting, he really didn’t care, so after he paid, he just studied the magazine rack until he heard the door open and that familiar tramp.   
  
Dean eyed the bag in his hand. “Dude—you remembered.   
  
Sam shrugged and stared at the Enquirer. If he looked at Dean’s grin and thought about why he’d gone in for that lock he’d—and damn, it was already too late, because Dean was standing close enough for him to feel his body heat and smell the spice of his skin.  
  
Dean led the way out of the store, so Sam stopped to shift his package a little and Dean looked back and caught him. The wink so did not help.   
  
“Damn it, Dean.” Sam yanked open the passenger door and climbed awkwardly inside.   
  
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy. You’re sixteen. You’re supposed to be sproutin’em all the time.”  
  
Sam bit off the retort that it only seemed to happen with that kind of frequency around his too gorgeous brother. Dean really didn’t need his head getting any bigger—either of them.   
  
“We’re not really going to the mall, are we?”  
  
“Why not? Dad told me to pick out some gifts for everybody.”  
  
“Today?”  
  
“Well, I don’t think they’ll be open tomorrow. And I could really use some time out of that house. Split-levels just gimme the creeps. All those stairs, for what? It’s like a freakin’ fun house.”   
  
“Wasn’t that last poltergeist in a split-level?”   
  
“Exactly my point. They’re evil. ‘Sides, there isn’t anything more regular than hitting the mall on Christmas Eve, Mr. Why Can’t We Just Be Like Everyone Else.”  
  
The only spots in the lot where miles from the doors, but Dean insisted on cruising up and down the lanes, because, of course, everything with him was a freaking challenge. Sam was wondering what Dad was going to say when one of these crazed Christmas shoppers put a huge dent in the car’s side.   
  
“We’ll never get something close. Why don’t we just—”  
  
“Score!” Dean whipped the car into a spot four slots from the door to Macy’s.  
  
“Lucky bastard.”  
  
“Luck? Planning, observation, strategy and skill, Sam.”  
  
“Whatever. You are the great hunter. All these evil minivans never stood a chance.”  
  
“Damn right.”  
  
Dean had most of the gifts picked out in half an hour. Tie for Uncle Mike, Giants shirts for Ben and Josh—Dean asked, but the clerk said he couldn’t print “JACKASS” on the back of Josh’s—a scarf and gloves for Aunt Sarah. The only gift Dean deliberated over was Katie’s, insisting they visit every toy store in the mall in search of the perfect unicorn.   
  
They rode down the escalator in the center. “Look at all these poor bastards.” Dean murmured in his ear. “None of ‘em have any idea what really goes on in this world.”  
  
“Yeah.” Poor bastards? Sam was so freaking envious of them it burned his throat like acid. None of them had to wear a wrist sheath to go Christmas shopping—just in case. None of them were quizzed on demon lore more than their weekly spelling words. None of them—  
  
“Hey. Wanna get some pizza?”  
  
Had Dean.  
  
“Mall pizza’s awful expensive, Dean.”  
  
“I told you. I’ve got some cash of my own.”  
  
Pizza was the one thing that never needed ketchup. Sam’s stomach growled.  
  
“’Kay.”  
  
Whatever skill let Dean find that parking spot led him unerringly to the one empty table in the middle of the food court.   
  
“Watch our bags.”   
  
When Dean swaggered back, he carried two plates heaped with slices.   
  
“Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to buy a whole pizza?”  
  
“I only ordered two slices.” Dean arched his brow.  
  
Sam looked past him at the pizza counter where a pretty brunette was still blushing, hands fluttering around her throat. He shook his head and laughed.   
  
*  
  
On the way back, they passed a sign for I-80 East, and Dean’s hands squeezed the steering wheel until they passed it. Dad would never know if he just . . .but there had to be a reason he’d wanted him to stay with Sammy.   
  
He glanced over at his brother. Sam was leaning back against the seat, hands folded over a belly stuffed with cheese and pepperoni. He looked years younger when he was asleep, lids down over those too-knowing eyes, lips curving into his smile that made Dean think “fine you can have my right arm if you want it,” the smile that just touched off his dimples.   
  
There were worse things than being stuck watching Sammy.   
  
Fortunately, the Hendrick family traditions leaned more to watching Christmas movies in the living room after dinner than a church service, especially a Protestant one where there’d be no opportunity to restock the holy water. There was no further interrogation over dinner, and Dean was content to let Josh boast about his prospects for internships.   
  
Sam was as jumpy as if he’d had five cups of coffee for lunch instead of five pieces of pizza. He kept yawning, a sure sight that he was nervous about something or lying, but for the life of him, Dean couldn’t figure out what had set him off this time. The later it got, the jumpier he got until Sam knocked the popcorn bowl off the coffee table. He pounced on the floor to clean up, cheeks dark red.   
  
“Don’t worry, Sam. It’s not like it’s soda.” Katie spoke as if she were familiar with the consequence of that sin.   
  
“I’ll-uh—go make more.” Sam hurried into the kitchen.  
  
“That’s not really necessary, dear.”  
  
“I’ll get some paper towels.” Dean followed Sam.  
  
“But it wasn’t even buttered—”  
  
His aunt’s protest died away as he climbed up the stairs to the kitchen and cornered Sam against the counter.   
  
“Dude, what is wrong with you?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“It’s not nothing. You’re jumpier than Tigger on crack.”  
  
“It’s nothing, Dean. Leave me alone.”  
  
“You worried about Dad? ‘Cause he’s not even due till tomorrow.”  
  
“It’s not Dad. It’s nothing.”  
  
“Whatever!” Dean grabbed the towels behind him and stomped back down the stairs. Sometimes he wished Sam would just hurry and grow up already.   
  
*  
  
Sam thought that all that reading would have helped his confidence, but as the time got closer, he just got more nervous. He really wanted to get this right.   
  
Dean came back from the bathroom and leaned against the closed door with a wary expression on his face. “So should I bother with this,” he indicated the newly installed hook and eye with an arch of his brow, “or am I sleeping on the floor?”  
 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year 2/2  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (established relationship)  
Rating: 18+  
Category: holiday slash?  
Word Count: this part 6800  
Spoilers: none, pre-series  
Summary: Christmas for the Winchesters is far from normal.  
Warnings: Under-age incest (Sam is 16, legal in NJ, but if it squicks, stop now) graphic sex, language.  
Disclaimer: Someone else created these fascinating characters. I just play with them—and make no profit at it.   
Notes: It’s all one story in two posts because I never met a word count I couldn’t exceed. Thanks to [ ](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/profile)[**acostilow**](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Any stupidity left is all my fault. I stole the “Tigger on crack” line from her. I’m sorry if any of you get stuck with Johnny Mathis in your head because of the title. (Fond as I am of his rendition; it’s a little weird for April and Wincest.)   
  
  
From Part 1  
  
_Sam thought that all that reading would have helped his confidence, but as the time got closer, he just got more nervous. He really wanted to get this right.  
  
Dean came back from the bathroom and leaned against the closed door with a wary expression on his face. “So should I bother with this,” he indicated the newly installed hook and eye with an arch of his brow, “or am I sleeping on the floor?”_  
  
Part 2  
Sam swallowed, but his throat still felt dry. “Can’t waste an opportunity like this.” His voice wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be. He wished to hell his cousins had brought in the whiskey tonight.   
  
He stood and shucked his pajamas before climbing under the blankets. He’d folded the rainbow unicorns over the chair. He just couldn’t do this under that ridiculous bedspread.   
  
Dean followed his lead and stripped off his pajamas before climbing in next to him. His brother tugged him into his arms and the worst of his nerves eased. Why couldn’t every night be like this? The warmth of skin on skin, a tangle of legs, the brush of Dean’s lips across his temple.   
  
“You gonna tell me about it now?”  
  
Dean’s hands rubbed his back the way they used to when he soothed away a nightmare.   
  
Sam shook his head and tucked it under Dean’s chin.   
  
“Their Christmas tree was pretty. I wish—”  
  
“What?” Sam lifted his head to watch his brother’s face.  
  
“Nothin’ ”  
  
“You really think Dad’ll be back tomorrow?”  
  
“If he can, he will be.”  
  
“What’ll you do if he’s not?”  
  
“I won’t leave you, Sam.”  
  
“I’m not worried about that.”  
  
Sam leaned up to press his lips against Dean’s. The hands stroking his back became rougher, grasping, finding the spots on his shoulder blades and neck that seemed hardwired to his dick.   
  
His heart pounded against Dean’s chest. He couldn’t even concentrate on this kiss, he was so preoccupied with what he planned. If he didn’t start now, he knew he’d lose his nerve or Dean would—oh god—he shifted his hips away from Dean’s exploring touch, hooked his brother’s leg and flipped him onto his back.   
  
“Wow, Sammy, what’s that about?”  
  
Sam pressed himself up on his arms. “You’re always on top.”  
  
“And you always come, so?”  
  
Sam shrugged and sat back on his heels, planting himself between Dean’s legs. The blankets slipped off his back to pile around their hips, but he wasn’t at all cold.   
  
He bent down and licked the skin around Dean’s navel. His brother hissed, and Sam moved his mouth lower, kissing the light hairs that trailed away. He tucked his chin and saw Dean’s cock twitch.   
  
“Ah.” Dean’s voice was tight. “Ah, whatcha doin’, Sam?”  
  
“I would think a smart guy like you could figure it out.”  
  
“You aren’t—” Dean tried to push his legs closed, and Sam pressed them down, his hands spread flat against the inside of Dean’s thighs.  
  
“Shut up.” The skin under his hands was furnace hot, and much smoother than on the tops. He remembered something he’d read and used his nails to tickle that skin. He didn’t think Dean was going to give him time for all the preliminaries his reading had suggested, but given how red the crown of Dean’s cock looked, he really didn’t seem to need them.   
  
He scooted his hips back until his shoulders fit between Dean’s legs, holding him wide open.   
  
“Sammy--” but it was a weak protest.   
  
Sam took a deep breath and wrapped his lips around the head of his brother’s cock. It tasted a lot like the rest of Dean’s skin, just stronger and way hotter. And it was satin against his tongue. Dean’s thighs spasmed against his shoulders.   
  
He flicked his tongue around the glans, ran it pointed over the slit and then used the flat on the underside, catching the tiny nob there, the frenelum the book had called it. It had the effect the book had promised. Dean’s whole body jerked.   
  
“Holy shit, Sammy.” It was only a gasp, but it sounded loud in the quiet room.   
  
Sam released the head. “Dean,” he whispered in warning.   
  
Dean nodded and shoved a pillow into his mouth. Sam went back to work, using his tongue all along the length. Dean’s scent was deeper now but familiar from all the other times he’d made him come, and Sam inhaled it as he worked Dean’s sac gently into his mouth.   
  
Dean’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder, whether to plead or warn off he didn’t know. He released the sac and worked his tongue around the root, and the hand petted his hair, a light encouraging touch.   
  
He knew Dean’d had girls do this to him before—even stumbled onto some girl blowing Dean behind the soda machine at a hotel one night when he was twelve. But he needed this one to be special because it was them.   
  
The fingers in his hair were a little more urgent, so he worked his way back up Dean’s cock with long strokes. The hand slipped back out of his hair, and back onto his shoulder, gripping harder now.   
  
He looked up. Dean’s face was hidden by the pillow, and Sam wanted to knock it across the room. He wanted to watch him, wanted to see those green eyes burning in his face, wanted to see the tension harden his jaw. It wasn’t fair.  
  
Maybe it was that Sam had stopped or maybe he felt Sam’s stare, but Dean lowered the pillow and grinned down at him, and the light in those eyes made Sam rub his own erection into the mattress and groan against Dean’s dick.   
  
“Shhh.” Dean hissed and replaced the pillow with his thumb, his teeth coming down on the thick part of the pad. That was almost as erotic a sight as the grin, and Sam’s hips worked involuntarily.   
  
He took Dean’s cock back into his mouth and eased down until he felt the head hit the back of his throat. He’d expected that getting Dean off like this would turn him on—hell, almost everything about Dean turned him on lately—but he never thought a mouth full of cock would feel this hot. The skin was so silky, such a contrast the hard steel underneath.  
  
He dragged his lips back up and listened to the wet sound as the head popped free. He could feel his dick leaking against the sheets and ground his hips harder.   
  
Dean’s hand kneaded his shoulder, becoming more insistent, begging in a way the silence could not permit. Sam went down again faster, and tried to relax his throat but he could only take it halfway. He’d have to practice that. He wrapped a hand around the base of Dean’s dick, twisting it a little with his strokes as his mouth rode up and down, and he began to suck. And that felt so good and right that he forgot about technique, forgot about everything but the cock in his mouth and his own dick grinding against the mattress.   
  
His body prickled with heat like he had a fever. He could feel Dean’s muscles clench and knew his brother was trying to keep his hips still. He couldn’t tell him it was okay any other way but sucking harder, sliding down farther until his lips met his fingers.   
  
A splash of something salty hit the back of his throat, and Dean shuddered. There was going to be a hand-shaped bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, but Sam didn’t care because he was coming against the mattress. Because sucking his brother off was so much hotter than he’d ever thought it could be, and he hoped he remembered to keep his lips over his teeth as those spasms ripped across his hips and ass.   
  
Even with the gag of his hand Dean’s grunts were just audible over Sam’s harsh breathing. He swirled his tongue over the head again and went down as far as he could. Dean’s hand on his shoulder was trying to pull him away, his hips trying to roll him off, but Sam hung on, and Dean came down his throat, salty and bittersweet like a mouthful of popcorn and Snowcaps. He swallowed as fast as he could but it still leaked over his chin. Dean’s hips bucked hard now, again and again, and Sam knew he’d driven him past any level of control and that was the best part yet. He kept sucking him until Dean’s hand fell hard on his head, and he let him lift him away.   
  
Panting, he rubbed his chin on the sheets. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”  
  
“You sneaky little shit.” Dean hooked him in the armpit and hauled him onto his belly before he collapsed back onto the remaining pillow. “Tell me where the hell you learned to do that before I break your fucking neck.”  
  
Sam was stunned for a second. Had he done it wrong? And then he knew. Dean was wondering if it was practical experience, and he was jealous. That knowledge made a sweet little fire burn in his stomach, and he smiled as he crawled up closer so they could whisper better. “Uhmm. I read about it.”  
  
“In a book? What the hell kind of book?”  
  
Actually, it had been one book, and a couple of different women’s magazines, but he’d rather his brother break his neck than admit that.   
  
“Just a book.”  
  
“I thought research was boring.” Dean shifted. “Eww. Damn, Sammy I just washed these sheets this morning.”   
  
“Sorry.” He said automatically, but he wasn’t. That had been fun.  
  
“You know, you could give a guy a chance to reciprocate.”   
  
Sam’s spent cock gave a little sign of life at the thought, but he said, “Not now. It was supposed to be your present.”  
  
“Best ever.” Dean hugged him tight. “I got something for you, too. Though maybe it’s kind of lame now.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Dean slipped out from under Sam and left the bed for a minute to pat his jacket. “Here.”   
  
Sam sat up. It was just a little box, and when Sam shook it, something thick moved inside.   
  
“You can’t tell Dad.”   
  
That was weird. Sam yanked off the lid. It was a key ring, and . . . a key to the car. “You’re old enough. And I’ll talk to Dad about letting you drive on your own every once in a while. We should be able to get you your license this winter.”  
  
What Dean meant was if they stayed in the same county for a couple months, which they hadn’t last summer when he’d turned sixteen, and then he’d gotten tired of fighting with Dad about it when there were so many other things that pissed him off about their life.   
  
Take the car on his own. He looked down at the key, and knew it was so much more than a key to him, or to Dean. “Thanks,” he managed to get out and swallowed hard a few times.  
  
“Yeah, well I still think my present was better.” He groaned softly as he bent down to grab his pajamas.   
  
“Where’re you going?”  
  
“To get a towel. ‘Cause the sheet is trashed.”  
  
Sam picked up the one he’d put next to the bed earlier. “You’re not the only one who can make a plan, Dean.”  
  
*  
  
Dean spent Christmas day in hell. The look on Sam’s face when his cousins opened their Game Boys was a sucker punch to the belly. His aunt had sensibly given the Winchester boys clothes, which they always needed, and Dean knew Sam was almost grown, a little old for toys, but Dean could still see the kid he’d been and wished he could have gotten Sammy something fun. But when Dean looked over at him again, Sam was grinning and patting the pocket where he’d stuffed the car key and Dean was miserable in a whole new way.   
  
Was it his imagination, or was Sam’s mouth a darker pink today, the lips fuller, the curve of them a frigging engraved invitation that made Dean feel he had the sexual control of a seventh grader. Christmas Day be damned, he’d have found some excuse to get them out of the house, to take Sam somewhere and show him just how much fun that Christmas present was, but he didn’t want to be gone when Dad got back.   
  
Which of course he didn’t.   
  
Dean waited, watching the street in front of the house from the den window as the sky grew darker. He was no damned good at waiting. When it was full black, Sam joined him there, chomping on the bubble gum that had been in his stocking. He wondered if Sam knew how his chewing drew attention to those pouty lips and made it almost impossible for Dean to think about anything but what those lips had been doing last night. The only reason he wasn’t putting those sweet lips to better use than blowing bubbles was that he was worried about Dad. He should never have gone alone.   
  
“It’s only five o’clock.” Sam snapped a bubble.   
  
“I know.”  
  
“What are you going to do if he doesn’t show?” Sam asked.  
  
“Ask me tomorrow, Sam.” He dragged his attention back to the window and away from that mouth.   
  
Dean waited stared at that black rectangle until midnight. When he went to bed, Sam was already asleep. He pulled his brother’s back tight against his front. Sam wiggled his butt against him as he settled in, but Dean ignored the answering tingle in his balls. He just wanted to sleep and wake up to find Dad at the breakfast table.   
  
*  
  
“Dad said he wanted us here.”   
  
“Fine. We’ll stay. But there’re other things we could do.”  
  
“Like what?” Dean looked away from the window at last and the expression on his face made Sam blush.  
  
“Research, ask around. Find out what Dad was hunting. We wouldn’t have to go near Clifton to do that.”  
  
“I guess. I do know one thing, though. I’ve got to get out of this house. It’s making me crazy.”  
  
When she heard they were on their way to the library, to do some research for Sam’s schoolwork, Aunt Sarah asked if they would take Katie along. There was no polite way to refuse, so he and Dean found themselves stuck in the actual library, searching the local newspapers and back copies of Weird N.J.  
  
Katie left them to themselves, content to browse the children’s section, but they could scarcely drag her around to do the other kind of checking up that usually followed the paper work. And there was no way to sneak off and—well, get off. Sam was a little pissed that Dean had let him sleep last night when he came to bed. They didn’t often get to share a bed without Dad around and he hated to think of not putting it to use.   
  
Sam drummed his pen against the magazine he was scanning.   
  
“Later, dude. I promise.”  
  
He looked up in time to see Dean’s wink and he had to focus hard on the bloody legend described in the article to keep from kissing his brother in the Morris County Public Library.   
  
*  
  
Sam was shocked when Dean said they’d be glad to “come with” when Josh issued the required invitation to the party he and his brother were attending that night.   
  
“We’ll take our own car, though, thanks. We’ll follow you.”   
  
“Dean? What are we doing?” Sam asked as they followed their cousins down the steps.   
  
“Goin’ out. We’re allowed to have a little fun every now and then.”  
  
“With them?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Just get in the car, Sam.”  
  
Josh’s sedan sped through a yellow light, and Dean stopped.  
  
“Now what are you doing?”  
  
“Getting lost.”  
  
“Getting lost?” Dean was never lost. When the light changed, Dean took a left. “Oh.”  
  
“I knew you were a smart boy, Sammy.”  
  
They stopped at the first cheap motel Dean came to, and Sam could feel his pulse in every part of his body, even his toes. They’d never checked into a motel all on their own before, and certainly not just to do whatever they were going to do.   
  
“Isn’t this a huge waste of money?” he asked as Dean came back in from registering and drove them down to their room.  
  
“It’s my money. And I’m thinking, no.” Dean leaned over and kissed him as the car stopped.   
  
“We could have just—”  
  
Dean grabbed his chin. “You’re not getting your first blow job somewhere you’ve got to shove a pillow in your mouth. I want to hear everything that comes out of those lips.” Dean was kissing him again.   
  
Sam could feel the blush spread like fire from his cheeks. “How’d you know—” he murmured against Dean’s lips.   
  
“Why else would you have done all that research?” Dean let him go and shoved open the door. “Come on.”  
  
Sam’s pulse wasn’t just pounding everywhere, it was roaring like the ocean in his ears, flooding his dick until he winced from the pressure of his jeans.   
  
He pressed the heel of his hand against his erection as he climbed out.   
  
“Do we need to hurry?”  
  
“Fuck you.”   
  
Dean grinned, and damn if he didn’t almost come in his pants again.   
  
The two beds in the room weren’t much bigger than the one they had been sharing the last three nights. Dean hit every lock on the door behind them and pulled off his jacket.  
  
“What about a salt line?” Sam glanced at the windows. It was such a routine it just didn’t feel right to skip it.   
  
“We won’t be sleeping.”   
  
And again Sam’s dick leaped in his pants. By the time—God, he had to clench his teeth and press his balls again—by the time Dean put—and he looked at his brother’s mouth and pressed harder—that on him he’d last about less than a second.  
  
“Wanna shower?”  
  
Dean was peeling off the rest of his clothes, and Sam was light-headed from how turned on he was. There couldn’t be any blood left anywhere else in his body.   
  
“Come on.”   
  
Dean came over in just his jeans and tugged on Sam’s jacket. Sam was so not going to make it. Just the thought of it was enough to make him come and Dean’s hands were on his shoulders . . .   
  
He thought about how hot it had been just to do that to his brother. Dean unhooked his belt and his fingers brushed the head of his dick as he unbuttoned him. Sam bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.  
  
“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean moved the cloth aside to touch him, and Sam came, shuddering and ashamed. “It’s okay.”   
  
He expected his brother to laugh at him, call him a cheap date, but Dean just raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them and Sam didn’t know if he should moan or cry.   
  
“Let’s take a shower.”  
  
They hardly ever had time like this. Dean almost always went with Dad now, and if he didn’t they could never be sure when Dad’d be home. Everything was always a rush. Sam couldn’t remember the last time they were alone with nothing to stop them from looking and touching every inch of each other. He examined all the new scars on Dean’s body, pressing a kiss on the angry tear on his left shoulder that still hadn’t healed.   
  
Dean pulled away and shoved Sam’s head under the shower, playful but not jackassy. And Sam knew this was going to be a night he’d think about every time he passed a college brochure in the school library. Because if it could always be like this, if he could just have this and not the rest of their screwed up lives, he’d never want anything else.   
  
Dean followed him under the spray, kissing him as the water ran over their faces. Sam tasted himself on Dean’s lips and tongue, and it should have been gross, but it tasted just like Dean’s come, and he remembered how much he’d loved sucking him off. He wanted to drop to his knees and do it all over again, but Dean held him tight, pressing him up against the tiles as he thrust inside his mouth with his tongue, his dick rubbing right into the groove above Sam’s hip.   
  
“God, Sam.” Dean moaned into his mouth. And when his brother’s voice went all deep and raspy like that, Sam’s dick couldn’t help but respond. The first rush of blood hurt, but then Dean was grinding against him, faster and faster, keeping him pinned against the wall with his body, his mouth, his tongue, his dick, and it just felt good.   
  
Why can’t we always have this? And it turned into an echo in his head, why, why, why, as Dean kissed and tongued down the side of his neck and lapped at water dripping over his pulse. Then he fastened his mouth on the spot where his neck hit his shoulder and sucked like a vampire, sucked Sam’s skin past his teeth, sucked until it hurt.   
  
Dean shuddered and jerked against him, and Sam felt him splash come on his stomach, hotter than the steamy shower. Dean’s tongue still worked over that bit of flesh he’d bitten as he kept bucking his hips. And now it really hurt, but Sam wouldn’t have stopped him for anything. Because having Dean lose himself like that was just too freaking perfect to interrupt. It made him feel stronger than Spiderman.   
  
“Holy shit, I’m sorry, Sam.” Guilt made Dean’s voice crack, and he kissed the swollen lump.   
  
“It’s okay,” he said and he knew how Dean felt when he’d soothed him before. He patted his brother’s back, unused to the sensation of offering comfort.   
  
“It’s a good thing Aunt Sarah bought you that hoodie.” Dean leaned back and examined the spot. “Holy shit. Stop me next time.”   
  
“I didn’t mind it, Dean, really.” He hadn’t, and it hadn’t even hurt until the very end. It had just made him harder.  
  
“Well, look at that,” Dean smiled as he pulled away from Sam and gazed down at the way Sam’s dick was climbing toward his stomach. “Way to go, Tiger.”  
  
Sam cuffed his ear and peeled himself off the freezing tiles.   
  
Dean came at him with a towel, and Sam grabbed it away. He wasn’t going to lose it again until—oh god, Dean was licking his lips.   
  
He dried off so roughly it hurt, and caught a glimpse of the hickey Dean had given him in the mirror. “Wow.”  
  
“I’ll make it up to you, kid.” And even the sappy looking guy in the picture over the tv got hard from the velvet promise in Dean’s voice.   
  
Sam dropped the towel and scurried for the bed.   
  
If it was possible, he was even more nervous than he had been Christmas Eve. What if Dean was only doing this because he thought he had to? What if he really didn’t like it? What if—  
  
“Have you done this before?” Sam blurted.  
  
Dean stopped with his knee on the bed, and Sam could see his face shift between a joke and the truth. “Yeah, once or twice.” And that was a voice he only used with outsiders—a quick you-don’t-want-to-know dismissal. He’d never used it on Sam.   
  
Why did that make him more jealous than the dozens of girls he knew Dean had screwed in the past year?  
  
He was going to ask for more information, and Dean must have known it because he pressed him back onto the pillows with a kiss that made him unable to speak.   
  
Sam was torn between thinking of those lips and tongue on his cock and those lips and tongue on somebody else’s and the first made him hot and the second made him angry and both made him harder. Dean kept kissing him, soft and sure, then deeper and deeper until he couldn’t breathe. He dug his hands into Dean’s broad shoulders, and his brother might as well have been made of marble for all the give there was to them.   
  
“In a hurry again, Sammy?” Dean asked when he lifted his mouth.   
  
Sam shifted against Dean’s hips. “Maybe.” His erection was starting to feel like a spike between his legs. He wasn’t used to drawing things out. Before getting to Aunt Sarah’s, the best they’d been able to manage was a five minute hand job in a gas station bathroom.  
  
“Try to relax.” Dean suggested unhelpfully, and Sam yanked on his hair.   
  
Dean caught his wrist, hard, but not enough to bruise. “Hey now. There’ll be none of that. Not now . . . or later,” he finished with an evil grin.   
  
Sam clenched his teeth to keep the moan back down in his throat. But Dean smiled again, and he must have felt that bottled up sound because he was kissing right over his windpipe, no teeth this time, just wet, hot, kisses that slid down over his collarbone and onto his chest.   
  
“It’s okay. I want to hear you, Sam. I want to know what you like.”  
  
Sam was slipping into a dizzy fever. He wanted to remember every moment of this, but the pleasure pumping through his body made it hard to hold onto conscious thought. Dean was tonguing his nipples now, and Jesus, that’s why girls got so squeaky when you touched them there.   
  
His hips bucked, and Dean’s hands were there, holding him down. Dean’s tongue traced the crease above Sam’s hip.  
  
“For instance,” his brother said, as if there hadn’t been all that mind blowing licking between now and his last words. “I love this spot on you. Your muscle cuts in and just cradles my dick perfectly.” He tongued the other side and nipped Sam’s hip bone. “Sometimes when you stretch and your shirt rides up and I can just see that spot—damn, Sammy, I want to grab you and fuck it till I come.”  
  
The moan that burst from Sam’s lips was so loud it surprised him.   
  
“That’s it, Sammy. Tell me. We always have to be quiet. I want to hear you, when I do this.” And his head came down and he licked the skin beneath Sam’s navel.   
  
Sam was trembling from the tension. He’d been so sure Dean was about to—and then he did. Oh, god, he did. His mouth was so fucking hot. And his tongue. Was that what it felt like? Holy shit.   
  
His hips bucked again, and Dean pressed them down. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there. Just relax.” Dean’s breath against his spit-wet head might as well have been this thumb, and Sam jerked against Dean’s hold.  
  
Dean pinning him to the mattress like that sent a bolt of heat shooting down his spine, and he could feel his cock leak. Dean licked the slit and his moan was louder than Sam’s had been.   
  
“You taste so good, Sammy.”  
  
His balls ached, and his dick was so hard he could have drilled concrete. “Please, Dean. Please.”  
  
And Dean’s tongue was everywhere: around the base, under his balls, wrapped around the head, but it wasn’t enough. Sam couldn’t find the words to tell him, just moans and curses, and then Dean took him back in his mouth, took him down his throat and sucked.   
  
Oh god, he wanted to come, he wanted it to go on forever, and he was never using his hand again, and couldn’t he just live in Dean’s mouth, because those lips were so soft but he was sucking so hard. Then Dean let go of his hips and he couldn’t help thrusting up into Dean’s mouth and Dean let him. Dean’s throat was even hotter than his mouth. Sam knew he should warn him, but he couldn’t get the words out, and all that the heat rushed down through him and burst out his dick. And the only thing he could scream was his brother’s name.   
  
When he could see again, think again, he just knew his heart was going to tear a hole right through his chest. Even breathing hurt his throat. He lay there panting and looked over to see Dean watching him, the look in his eyes the one he always wanted to see, the one that said everything that never came out of Dean’s mouth.   
  
But he could say it. “Love you,” he whispered.  
  
“Aw, that’s just the sex talkin’, Sam. Told you it was an awesome Christmas present.”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
He looked down. Dean was slowly stroking his own swollen dick, eyes closing every time his thumb swept over the head.   
  
Sam licked his lips. “Let me.”  
  
“Nah. You just rest.” Dean eyes were fluttering more regularly now.   
  
“But I want—”  
  
“Shhh.” Dean’s mouth brushed that still tingling spot on Sam’s neck, lips gentle on the bruise.   
  
Sam brought his hand down over Dean’s.   
  
“You are a . . .” Dean voice was dropping into that range where it was just a rumble in his chest and if Sam hadn’t just blown a truck load, he knew he’d be hard again.   
  
Sam took over the rhythm.   
  
“. . ahh, stubborn little shit.”   
  
Dean’s mouth seemed reluctant to leave the hickey, but just as Sam felt his teeth graze it again, Dean lifted his head until their eyes met. There was that look again, and Sam just listened to every word. Then Dean panted and shuddered as he bathed Sam’s hips and belly in hot, creamy ropes.  
  
Dean closed his eyes, and it felt like being left alone in the dark. Sam wanted to shake him until they opened, but the moment was gone. Dean rolled away and came back with the towel he had dropped at the edge of the bed. And among his brother’s many talents was always pushing him away just when he thought he might finally understand him.   
  
“So, you’re never using your hand again?”   
  
“I said that out loud?”  
  
“Among other things.” Dean was smirking. “I mean really, Sam. How would I eat?”  
  
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”  
  
“You tell me often enough, Sammy.” Dean pulled him onto his chest and wrapped his arms around him.   
  
The perfect bone melting lassitude spreading through Sam’s body fell away at a sudden thought. “You won’t fall asleep, will you? Because we didn’t salt the room and Dad’ll kill us.”  
  
Sam could feel Dean’s laughter against his cheek a second before he heard it, warm and loud in the quiet room.  
  
“I think Dad might have a few other problems with this scenario, Sam. He’d kill me for about six different things before he got to stressing over the salt line.”  
  
“You?”  
  
“You’re the baby, Sam. It’d have to be my fault.”  
  
“But I started it.”   
  
“And I didn’t stop you.” Dean’s voice was tight with something but it didn’t sound like anger. “Did you—could you tell I wanted to—I mean before you started—”  
  
“Actually, I kind of hoped you weren’t going to deck me. I wasn’t really sure. Why?”  
  
“No reason.” Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls, and Dean tugged the covers over them. “Heh,” his tone held deep regret. “I must not be as good as I thought.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Cause you’re still awake.”   
  
Sam yawned at the thought of how sweet a little sleep would be.   
  
“Go ahead. I’ll stay awake. We’ve got a few hours before we should head back.”  
  
And just before Sam drifted off into that seductive warmth, he felt his brother’s hand stroking his hair.   
  
*  
  
Dean didn’t have to fake a sigh of regret when he woke Sam two hours later. He wished he could let them stay there all night, but that would lead to too many questions, especially if Dad was back. It was early enough yet; Josh and Ben probably weren’t even home.   
  
Sam was still sleepy as he urged him into the back into the shower, rousing him with slow kisses and deep rubs from the washcloth until he was hard again. When Sam whimpered because it was too much sensation, Dean eased him through it, jerking him off with gentle soapy tugs. Sam kissed him so deep when he came, it seemed to suck the air from Dean’s lungs.  
  
But when Sam reached for his own half-hard cock, he pulled away. “We’ve gotta get back.”  
  
Dean was surprised to find Josh’s sedan in the driveway when they pulled up. He’d figured they’d be out most of the night. Probably got drunk too fast. It couldn’t matter. Josh could hardly tell his mother that he’d deliberately ditched them on the way to the party. He didn’t need to go in the house to know that Dad still wasn’t back. Their father would have been waiting up for them.   
  
They let themselves in the back door. Sam was so tired he was almost tripping over his feet, but Dean wanted to make one more stop. He tugged Sam down the three stairs into the den.  
  
“What?” Sam yawned.  
  
“Just c’mere for a second.”  
  
Dean pulled him in front of the still glowing Christmas tree. Somehow all those lights sparkling like stars made Dean think of a heaven he no longer believed in. He wrapped himself around Sam from behind and stared at the tree.   
  
“Dean.” It was a warning.  
  
“Shh. Everyone’s asleep.”  
  
After a moment, Sam relaxed against him. Dean reached up and turned Sam’s head toward him for a kiss. He could feel Sam’s sudden fear in the tightness of his lips, the stretch of his neck.   
  
“Are you nuts?”  
  
Dean tried to soften Sam’s lips with his own.   
  
“C’mon. Just for a minute.”  
  
Sam turned to face him, eyes searching behind them. Dean kept his grip on Sam’s chin and finally Sam’s eyes settled back on his and the hard line of his mouth curved into that beautiful smile.   
  
“You sap.”  
  
“Shut up.” And Dean kissed his brother in the light from the Christmas tree.   
  
Dean never meant the kiss to get out of hand, but Sam opened his lips and Dean was back in the shower, back in that motel bed. There was a whimper of a moan in Sam’s throat, so he pulled it down into his.   
  
He had to force himself off Sam’s mouth. “Shit.” That leather couch was just begging to be Christened with a nice long . . .  
  
Sam’s eyes were closed.   
  
“C’mon, sleepy.”  
  
As soon as they hit the top of the stairs, Ben popped his head into the hall. Dean’s heart kicked in his chest.   
  
“Gotta minute?” But Ben’s tone didn’t make it a question.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ll see.”  
  
Dean tried to send Sam off to their room, but his brother shook his head.   
  
Ben led them to Josh’s room. Josh was sitting at on the window sill, window open to the back yard, a packed pipe in his hands. The curtains shifted as the escaping heat created a breeze.   
  
Josh got right to the point. “We saw you.”  
  
Dean felt adrenalin flood his system.   
  
“Your car outside the hotel. If you’re gonna try a hotel on the down-low, you oughta have a less obvious car. Nice hickey, Sammy.”  
  
Dean was figuring out exactly where his fists would do the most damage to Josh’s face.  
  
“So, what’d you guys do? Pick up a couple of hookers or just find girls drunk enough to screw a couple of freaks.”  
  
“Why? Jealous? Can’t get laid on your own, Josh? Girls at Rutgers a little particular?”  
  
“So.” Josh ignored Dean’s taunt. “This is the way it’s gonna be for as long as we’re stuck with your asses—unless you want your Dad to know you took your baby brother whorin’. That is if Daddy ever comes off his binge and remembers where he parked you this time.”  
  
Josh clicked his lighter and dipped it toward the bowl. But Josh must have been drunker than he looked, or there was a sudden breeze from the window, because the blaze flared up and grabbed the curtain over his head. Curtains that were clearly not up to fire code, because they went up in a heartbeat. Heat, flames, smoke: another day at the office.  
  
Dean darted forward and pulled Josh out from under the burning curtains.   
  
“Sam! You good?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
And what the hell was the house made of, accelerant? The flames shot up onto the ceiling.   
  
“You get them out. I’ll get everyone else.”  
  
“Pull your shirts up over your faces.” He heard Sam instruct as he ran out and down the hall.   
  
Sam would be all right. He had years of training for this.   
  
He pounded on the door to his aunt and uncle’s room. “Fire!” He shoved open the door.   
  
Katie was sitting up on her cot, the unicorn they’d given her clutched in her arms. Dean scooped her up. “Sarah, Mike, fire!”   
  
His aunt was up first.   
  
“I’ve got Katie.”   
  
His uncle staggered up.   
  
“You guys all right?” Dean wanted Katie out as soon as possible. “There’s a fire. Josh and Ben are fine. They’re with Sam.”   
  
“Where?” His uncle asked.   
  
He carried Katie to the door and checked to see that his aunt and uncle were following.  
  
“Let’s get out of here, first.”  
  
Smoke already filled the hall. “Cover your mouths.” Dean bent low over Katie.   
  
“Betsy!”   
  
Dean looked over his shoulder. The little unicorn was in the doorway. Dean ducked back and grabbed it. His shoulder screamed a protest. Then he was pounding down the stairs, smoke tearing at his lungs.  
  
He hit the front door seconds later and carried Katie right on across the street. The rest of the family was already there, Sam in the neighbor’s door, getting help.   
  
The cleanup was familiar. Firemen, cops, ambulances, curious bystanders, flashing lights, barricades. They managed to keep the fire confined to the bedroom.   
  
Dean saw Sam leaning up against a barricade, watching the firemen drench the top story.   
  
He bumped him with his shoulder. “Sorry about your homework, dude.”  
  
Sam laughed. “That’ll be a new excuse. At least I won’t have to come up with a lame cover for it being covered in blood or some other goo.”  
  
“So, this is normal, huh?”   
  
“C’mon, Dean. You know not everybody’s life is like this.”  
  
“Can’t tell by this.”  
  
Dean straightened up as a cop advanced on them. “You Dean Winchester?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” He kept the smile off his face.   
  
“Your cousin said the fire started with a candle.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” He saw Josh standing just behind the cop. “There was a candle in the window. Caught the curtains on fire.”  
  
“Lucky you were all awake.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Josh walked away.   
  
Dean heard a familiar step behind him and turned. “Dad.”  
  
His father caught him in his arms. “Sam?”   
  
“He’s fine, Dad. He’s right here.” But Sam was no longer leaning up against the barricade.   
  
“I heard about the fire on the scanner. God, Dean. I thought—”  
  
“No, Dad, no. It was just the regular kind. Josh’s lighter hit the curtains.”  
  
“Was Sam in the room?”  
  
“Yes, but he’s fine, he’s right—“  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“Dad.”   
  
Dad caught Sam by the forearms and stared into his face. “All right, son?”  
  
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”  
  
Dad pulled him into a hug.  
  
“Dad, Clifton, what did you—” Dean asked.  
  
“We’ll talk about it later.” Dad released Sam and stepped forward to meet his sister.   
  
The conversation was quiet, but their aunt’s arms did a lot of waving. Dean didn’t’ think he’d be seeing his aunt or cousins again. He guessed Aunt Sarah was thinking she didn’t really want any more connection with her Winchester roots.   
  
He’d miss Katie. She was perched on top of a police car, wrapped in a blanket, Betsy in her arms. He walked over and said good-bye. The only other regret he had was their bags. That was one of his favorite pistols. Sweet grip.  
  
“Ready to go, boys?”  
  
“Our bags.” Our guns.  
  
“I’ll pick them up tomorrow.”  
  
All Dean could hope was that Dad didn’t take them to the same hotel. He didn’t think either he or Sammy would be able to control their blushes.   
  
The doors of the car clanged shut.   
  
“So, did you boys have a good Christmas, all things considered?”  
  
Dean dared a glance in the back seat at Sam. “Yes, sir.” They said in unison.


End file.
